


Every Monday Morning

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Cobra - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 17:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan likes her routines. She wakes up at four in the morning, goes to work as a host on The Morning Show, spends her day doing segments about cooking and this season’s fashion trends, and then she goes home to spend time with her son and help him with his homework. She’s finally found something stable, and she doesn’t like change.So when the show’s regular chef retires and is replaced by Killian Jones, it throws Emma for a loop that she doesn’t necessarily like.At least not at first.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 66
Kudos: 340





	Every Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [searchingwardrobes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/gifts).

> Technically *tomorrow* is the wonderful searching-wardrobes birthday, but since I can't post tomorrow, I figured a little early birthday present was okay! Happy birthday, sweet lady! You're the best for all that you do ❤️

It’s five in the morning, Emma has coffee in her ridiculously oversized mug that Henry gave her for her birthday last year, and she absolutely does not want to be awake right now. She wants to be in her pajamas, and she wants to have to struggle to get out of bed and to have to make Henry breakfast that he’ll take two bites out of before deciding that he doesn’t actually want the pancakes she made. It’s been an obnoxious thing lately, his weird aversion to foods after saying that he wants them, and she’s really going to need him to grow out of that habit.

Kids are freaking weird, and after ten years of motherhood, she still has no idea what she’s doing.

“Stop twitching,” Ruby grumbles.

“I am not twitching.” 

  
  
“You are.” Ruby huffs, and Emma straightens herself in the chair before taking a slow sip of coffee. “It’s not easy to put your eyeliner on, and it’s even more difficult if you keep moving.”

“I am not moving, Rubes,” Emma insists before crossing her leg over her knee only for Ruby to slap it away so that both feet are on the bottom of the chair. “Okay, maybe I am a little bit, but I didn’t get the chance to workout this morning, and I’m feeling all jittery.”

Ruby hums, and Emma tries to relax her eyes so that Ruby can keep working on her makeup without it smearing. “Why not? Did you not sleep well last night?”

“We were up late doing Henry’s homework. I swear, I’m not that old, but some of his stuff I’ve never heard of. The math is killing me. I would never in my life want Neal to come back, but I feel like it would almost be acceptable if he could do this math.”

  
  
“That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“Stop wrinkling your nose.”

“I am not.”

  
  
“You are,” Ruby laughs as her finger hits the tip of Emma’s nose. “Give me ten more minutes, and then you can get dressed and take a few minutes to eat something and drink your coffee.”

“It’s Monday,” Emma sighs. “It’s Chef Rudianni day. I’m about to eat everything that he cooks when he does his segment.”

Ruby stops the light pressure of the sponge on Emma’s cheek, and she opens her eyes to see that Ruby is staring at her with an apologetic smile. Shit.

“Chef Rudianni retired last week, Ems. We’ve got a new guy, and whew, let me tell you, he’s as hot as the food that he’s going to teach you to make.”

Disappointment settles in Emma’s stomach. Maybe that’s just the lack of food…the lack of Chef Rudianni’s food. “You are shameless and also breaking my heart.” Emma groans and leans back in the chair while crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t care how attractive the new guy is. I wake up at four in the morning every Monday with the hope that I can get food from Rudy. It is literally the only thing that gets me through the day.”

“Being a host on one of the most popular morning shows in America doesn’t do it for you? You work for half a day and then are home in time to spend all afternoon with Henry.”

Emma grunts and waves Ruby away. “Yeah, whatever. You don’t have to rub it in my face that I’m lucky to make me feel bad about it.”

“That’s what friends are for, my darling. Now, arch your left brow. I need to fix that little stray.”

Ruby keeps prodding and plucking and doing everything that she does every morning to make Emma look camera ready and not like she’s waiting to die from lack of sleep, and while it’s usually Emma’s time to relax, she doesn’t get much of that when her producers come in and run her through this morning’s program. Emma never does any “real” news, which is perfectly okay with her. There’s enough darkness in the world that she doesn’t want to have to extensively deal with that while at work. Instead, she spends her mornings talking to people who run their first marathons at the age of sixty, tries on different outfits for each of the seasonal trends, and gets to pretend that she knows how to cook as she does cooking segments.

Chef Rudianni made it easy for her to pretend that she had something more than basic cooking skills, even if he did very obviously make fun of her off the screen, but she never cared about that because the food was that good.

She’s not entirely sure about this new guy, and she hasn’t even met him yet. He better be able to cook pie for Thanksgiving. That’s what’s she’s going to miss the most.

(Emma is obviously very hungry right now, and she’s not even technically supposed to eat that much of the food.)

“You look happy this morning,” David teases her as she settles down at her chair behind the desk.

“It’s Monday, and I’m tired.”

“Working on a morning news show was not your calling.”

Emma rolls her eyes and twists in the chair as Mary Margaret, the second half of the power couple of The Morning Show, sits down in her chair next to David, and Will Scarlet, their weather and sports guy, sits opposite of her. They’ve got maybe ten different hosts total, especially since this show lasts for five hours, but the four of them have been the main four for the last three years. It’s nice, even if their personalities can clash, but Emma likes to think that’s what makes it interesting. Mary Margaret and David are both so full of hope and happiness, and the energy radiating from the two of them make it easier for she and Will to be a little more optimistic about things.

(There was once an incident with Will laughing at a story about a woman who made her living making sweaters for dogs, and they had a month-long sensitivity training session afterward. That also may be why they are all unwaveringly positive on-air.)

Emma hums and reaches forward to grab her coffee cup, wishing and willing that the caffeine will help her make it through the day. “I think I was meant to be, like, a late-night host or something, but then I couldn’t get away with wearing slippers underneath the desk and would have to be funny all the time.”

“Does it hurt to wear heels even while you’re sitting?” Will asks.

“Why don’t you try it one day, Scarlet? I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow to show the fall color trends for shoes. I’m sure she could give you a pair to try on. You’ll look great delivering the news in some plum pumps.”

“I’d do it. You know that.”

“We’re live in thirty seconds,” their producers call out, and each of them turn from each other back to face the camera, coffee mugs put down and hair adjusted with perfectly white smiles etched across their faces.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Good morning, America,” David begins.

“And welcome to The Morning Show,” Mary Margaret finishes.

And thus they begin.

The first ten or so minutes is spent with David and Mary Margaret reading off little snippets of news before connecting it to their personal lives, talking about their kids and their relationship before throwing it off to Will and Emma and to banter back and forth. Emma never talks about Henry on-air. His existence isn’t something she shares with the world, mostly because she doesn’t want Neal suddenly popping back in realizing that he has a son. He would definitely try to take advantage of her again and use her job and Henry as some way to advance his life, and Emma isn’t here for that. So, she plays the part of a single twenty-eight-year-old woman and never shares anecdotes over her life at home. At least not ones that involve Henry.

Soon they all branch off into their different jobs and topics. Emma and Will both leave the main table so that Will can do the weather and Emma can set up to interview a college student who is taking Krispy Kreme donuts and putting his own spin on them, and like every morning, time flies by in a mess of interviews and segments and talking to all of the people who are both crazy and awesome enough to stand outside their studio window just to get a chance to see where they film.

It’s an insane life, one Emma most definitely stumbled into it, but she loves it.

Until she walks over to the fake kitchen they have on set and sees the new guy setting up whatever it is he’s cooking today. Emma stops in her tracks, the heels she put back on scratching against the linoleum floor, and she has to take a moment to collect herself. Ruby wasn’t wrong when she said that the new chef was attractive. He obviously is. Even from here she can see the sharp line of his jaw covered with scruff that’s a shade or two lighter than the black of his hair, and his eyes are so blue that Emma is almost positive they’re contacts. It’s ridiculous. He’s tall, but not outrageously so, and she can see the muscles in his forearms and biceps under the t-shirt that he has on.

Guys who look like that always know that they do, indeed, look like they do, and it’s never good news. They think they’re a gift to women world-wide, and Emma prepares herself for him to be the same way, especially with the way that he’s obviously flirting with one of their production assistants, Tink.

Why in the world did Chef Rudianni have to retire? She’s going to miss him and his sweet elderly man ways where he thought of her more like a granddaughter than anything else.

Taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she’s a professional, Emma walks toward the cooking set, grabs her apron off the hook, ties it around her, and walks up to the guy to introduce herself. He’s a once-a-week segment for four minutes, and it really won’t be that bad. It can’t be.

(Emma hates change.)

“Oh.” Tink jumps when she sees Emma, pink rising on her cheeks, “Mr. Jones, I’d like you to meet Emma Swan.”

The guy’s shoulders tense before he turns around, and Emma’s eyes are immediately hit by the blue, which is even more insane closer up. So is the brightness of the smile that seems to stretch all the way up to his eyes.

He better be a damn good cook.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, love,” he drawls out, the thickness of his British accent curling around his tongue. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

Emma forces a smile and nods her head as she reaches forward to shake his hand. “Emma Swan. Welcome to The Morning Show.”

“I’m glad to be here. Any tips for my time here? Who likes to steal food off the table? Anyone absolutely hate any certain kind of food? Anyone I should avoid?”

Emma releases his hand and cocks her head to the side, trying to size him up. “Just cook the food and smile for the camera when you’re supposed to, and you’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t expect me to be a good assistant. I’m not at all a chef. I faked it.”

He winks, and Emma has to grit her teeth. This guy is obviously a natural flirt. “That’s because you haven’t cooked with me yet.”

-/-

Killian Jones is even more charming on-camera then he is off of it. She has no idea what kind of television work he’s done in the past, if he’s done any at all, and he is every bit the natural at working the camera and the crowd as he takes her through the steps to make an absolutely fantastic end of the summer barbeque for the end of July that has her having to wipe barbeque sauce off her fingers in the middle of the segment. It’s also got everyone else coming over to check out the food, something that almost never happens, and Emma isn’t entirely sure how she feels about any of it.

It’s good for the show, at least. She knows that. She’ll simply have to get used to a little change every Monday morning.

-/-

“Mom,” Henry moans as he flops down on the couch, “I am starving. What’s for dinner?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders and gets up from her favorite chair in the living room to walk the few feet to the kitchen and the fridge. When she opens it, there’s barely anything inside. It’s half a gallon of milk, some cheese sticks, a bag of carrots, and then leftover lasagna Mary Margaret gave them a week ago. Emma needs to go grocery shopping, but she hasn’t had the chance recently. It’s been a crazy few weeks with work, the month of August and half of September flying by, and grocery shopping has been at the bottom of her list of things to do.

Mom of the year award, honestly. She needs to bite the bullet and pay the surcharge to have her groceries delivered, but the frugalness of growing up in the foster system has never really gone away when it comes to things like that. Expensive shoes? Sure, she can spend a few hundred dollars on that. Paying twenty dollars for a delivery fee? No, absolutely not.

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Emma looks at the complete lack of food in the fridge and decides that eating here is not an option. And she cannot eat takeout Chinese food or pizza again this week. That is not an option her stomach will agree with.

(She is making a change when it comes to their eating habits tomorrow. She swears.)

“How about we go out for dinner, kid?”

Henry sits up from the couch and puts his phone down, which is pretty much a miracle since this is the time that he’s allowed to use it, and he looks so much like Neal in this moment that her heart pangs. Or maybe that’s the consistent amount of junk food. She doesn’t really know.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s Friday night, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“I mean, _you_ don’t have anything better to do. I was going to play my game with Avery.” Emma narrows her eyes at him, and Henry holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you find a place we’ve never been, and we’ll go there?” Henry opens his mouth and Emma holds her finger up. “Within one subway stop of here. I don’t want to traipse across the city. Let me go put on some actual pants, and then we’ll go, okay?”

Henry nods his head before quickly grabbing his phone and looking up restaurants while she walks back down the hallway to her bedroom to change out of her pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a light sweater that will keep the chill away since every restaurant is inevitably freezing. She can’t wait until fall truly rolls around and the temperature dips so that she can walk around all bundled up and no one will say a word.

Of course, this is Manhattan, and no one cares if Emma is walking around in nice, clean clothes or a T-rex suit.

When she’s finished getting ready and has run her hands through Henry’s hair to try to calm it down despite his protests, they leave their apartment, saying goodbye to the doorman Henry has pretty much adopted into their family, and follow the GPS to the restaurant Henry picked out. Emma didn’t look into it too much. All she saw was that it had good reviews and food that Henry would most definitely eat without complaint, and she was good to go.

(Her rumbling stomach really helps her make decisions much more quickly than she would otherwise.)

The place is on a corner lot, black gates cornering off the outdoor tables that all have umbrellas open over them if they’re not already covered by the black awnings that extend over the windows and toward the bubble lights that are brightening the space even with the constant flow of street lights and car headlights that keep passing by.

_Sweet William._

“Kid,” Emma hesitates as they wait for the crosswalk light to turn on, “this place is packed. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to eat here.”

Henry tugs on her hand, and she looks down at him to see him smile. “Can we please at least try? The website said we didn’t need reservations, and that it has really good cheeseburgers. And those Alexander drinks that you like.”

“You really shouldn’t know about my alcohol preferences.”

“I know that you really like piña coladas, but you’re always too embarrassed to buy those unless we’re at the beach with Mary Margaret and David.”

Emma huffs and tugs Henry closer to her side so that she can kiss his forehead. “I think you’re too observant for your own good.”

“I thought moms wanted their kids to be smart.”

“We do…to a certain extent.”

The light changes and suddenly there’s a rush of people walking across the street. Emma holds onto Henry out of instinct as they move along with the crowd and walk up to the restaurant. Emma doesn’t expect them to get a table, especially once they walk inside and she can see that all of the tables and booths are full, but she asks the hostess anyway. She gives Emma a tight smile, one that is definitely more annoyed than kind, and then they’re told that it’ll be a forty-minute wait unless they want to sit at the bar. Emma’s fine with that, especially since Henry is insistent on getting one of these cheeseburgers, so they’re quickly guided through the restaurant until they get to the bar in the back and are stuck in the corner on the little swivel chairs.

How in the world has she never heard of this place? It’s obviously popular and in walking distance of her apartment. Emma needs to get out more often, but that’s too much effort.

When in the world did she turn into an old woman?

Probably when she had a kid at eighteen and then began getting up for work far before the sun rises.

Henry catches her up on everything that’s been happening at school in the past week. His friends are all obsessed with some new YouTube blogger that she’s going to have to check out, and his science project is due in two weeks. Emma puts a reminder in her phone over that because they will forget about it, and Henry will come home the night before it’s due so that they have to make a last-minute trip to the store for absolutely everything he needs and neither of them will get any sleep.

“Wait, so what happened with Avery’s mom?” Emma asks Henry as she sips on her diet coke.

“She had to go to the emergency – ”

“Swan!”

Emma’s head flips so quickly at the sound of the familiar accent that she almost gets whiplash, and all of the sudden Killian Jones is standing in front of her behind the bar with a stupid grin on his face. It’s the one that he does whenever he’s made a joke after she spectacularly fails at some kind of cooking thing or spills food on her apron, and Emma is experiencing whiplash in more ways than one.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Jones,” she greets, nodding at him. “What are you doing behind the bar?”

He raises his brows, a signature move of his as she’s learned over their weeks of doing segments, but then they settle back down to their normal place. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Nothing,” he sighs as he leans forward and rests his elbow on the bar top. “Who’s this young gentleman? Your date for the evening perhaps?”

Heat rushes to Emma’s cheeks, as well as the urge to mutter a few curses, because this is not good. Not good at all. Only a few people at work know about Henry and those people are people who she spends time with outside of work. Those people are her family, bloodlines be damned. They’re not the chef who comes by every Monday morning and attempts to flirt with her while showing her how to make an apple cider bar for fall holiday parties.

Emma opens her mouth to try to save some face, but then Henry is speaking. “Henry Swan. You’re the guy who teaches my mom to cook on TV.” Henry leans forward and nearly knocks over his drink. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

Emma scoffs while Killian leans back with his hand on his chest and his entire face lit up with his laugh. A few people look over to them, but they quickly turn away while Killian keeps chuckling and Emma finds herself at a total loss for words.

Her son just called her a bad cook and also told someone that he’s her son. How in the world does she react to that?

“I’m trying my best, lad,” Killian chuckles, wiping away a tear from his eye, “but your mum is very much a beginner. Maybe if they let me come in for her show more often, I could help her out more.”

“Maybe,” Henry shrugs. “Do you work here?”

“Aye, I do. This is my restaurant.”

She hopes the floor is clean because Emma’s jaw is about to drop there.

Of all of the restaurants in this city, Henry had to pick this one.

“Cool, so you make the cheeseburgers? The reviews online say they’re really good.”

Killian looks at her, his eyes wide, and Emma realizes that he’s silently asking for her permission to keep talking to Henry. She doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does. Nodding, she tilts her head back toward Henry.

“I have other chefs that help me out,” Killian continues, “which is why I get to come out here and talk to you guys, but I did come up with the recipe for it. Is that what you ordered?”

“Yep. Mom ordered a salad and is making me eat part of it.”

“Ah, well, vegetables are important, and I promise that my salads are good salads.”

“I’ll believe it when I taste it.”

Emma snorts and hides her smile behind her drink while Killian looks back at her and moves his brows across his face. She didn’t know he could have this long of a conversation without flirting.

“Do you two want a table?” Killian asks them as he tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, and not for the first time, she notices the red scars that stretch up his left hand and arm. “I know we’re busy in here tonight, but I think I have a little pull to get you a table.”

“Thank you, but I think we’re fine. Right, kid?”

“As long as I get my cheeseburger, I’d sit in the bathroom and be happy.”

Sometimes Emma forgets that Henry is a ten-year-old boy who still finds the occasional fart funny and that he doesn’t have a great sense of hygiene, and then he says something like that to bring her back to earth and reminds herself that her kid is, indeed, a kid.

Killian stays and talks to them for a few minutes before he’s called off to sign some papers and disappears behind a set of double doors that Emma assumes lead to the kitchen. They don’t see or hear from him again that night, though their food gets to them much more quickly than most everyone else at the bar. Henry absolutely devours the cheeseburger, barely taking a bite of any of the vegetables that she puts in front of him, but she doesn’t expect anything less. Her salad is really good, though. She usually hates any salad that she has to eat (the pressure of being on TV and all), but she actually enjoys it tonight.

Even after she asks for the bill, and she’s told by the bartender that their check has already been paid and that they have a to-go box of a blueberry cobbler waiting for them at the front of the restaurant.

Emma is a sucker for any kind of cobbler or pie.

Henry seems to think that this has been the coolest night of his life, and she took him to Disney World in June after years of begging.

When Monday morning rolls around, Emma is as exhausted as ever, and she muddles through her routine of hair and makeup before rolling out onto the set and plastering a smile on her face that matches everyone else’s as they banter back and forth about their weekends. It’s fine, normal as ever, and then Emma is being shuffled over to the kitchen set in between takes where she sees Killian already in his show-provided apron.

Shit.

She forgot about this? How could she? It’s been a part of her routine for eight weeks now.

“Morning, love,” he greets, grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here.”

She huffs and grabs her apron before tying it around her waist. “We obviously can’t stay away from each other’s places of business. What are we cooking today?”

“Healthy, easy meals that work perfect for leftovers for your kid’s lunch the next day.”

Emma’s heartbeat quickens, and she quickly looks around to see that everyone is distracted watching David and Mary Margaret go over some viral video. “Hey, so don’t mention Henry on air, okay? I never meant for you to meet him, and I don’t…he’s the best part of my life, but I like to keep my home life and work life separate.”

Killian nods and walks a little closer to her so that he sways into her space, his hand lingering close to hers. “I assumed as much, love. I promise you that I won’t mention him, and believe it or not, this was planned before I knew about your boy.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a liar.”

He shrugs. “A liar who bought your dinner and gave you a complimentary dessert because I heard you were a fan of cobblers and all things in the pie family.”

“You know, just because you buy me dinner doesn’t mean I’m going to start liking you.” Killian winks before waggling those damn brows again, and Emma has to bite back her laugh. “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

-/-

As the weeks go on and summer officially fades into fall, Emma continues to stick to her routines as all of the new parts of it become a little more normal. She wakes up early, occasionally getting to the gym before work but most of the time right after she finishes, goes to work to spend a few hours talking, and then runs errands before picking up Henry from school and spending her afternoon with him. Sometimes Ruby or Mary Margaret and David come over and on occasion Will takes Henry to the batting cages to practice his batting stance, but other than that, things are all the same.

Well, mostly.

She has gotten better about buying groceries more often (hello grocery delivery even with the delivery prices) and attempting to cook so that they can order less takeout, and Henry complains about her cooking a hell of a lot less.

(She really isn’t that bad.)

The one big change, however, is that every Friday night she and Henry wander a few blocks over to Sweet William to get dinner. It started out as an accident, mostly Emma craving a cheeseburger after going to a Pilates class that absolutely kicked her ass, and the two of them found themselves sitting at the corner of the bar again. That quickly changed as the hostess moved them to a booth that has comfortable seats and enough space to fit a few more people. Emma insisted that the bar is fine, but she was told that the owner insists that the two of them sit there.

(Henry is convinced that having a special table for him is the greatest thing in existence, and who knew that being treated specially at a restaurant would be such a huge thing for Henry?)

It goes like that every Friday night. She and Henry go to Sweet William, sitting at the same booth that is always reserved for them, and the two of them make it a challenge to try as many things on the menu as they can. Killian always comes out and sits with them for a few minutes, smelling of a mixture of foods that he doesn’t usually smell of on The Morning Show set, and he’s as charming as he always is.

Emma doesn’t trust it.

Except for the fact that she kind of does.

This is a coworker who is being kind to her and her son. He’s not doing anything untoward, and he’s not asking her for something. Not at all. Killian is simply being nice, entertaining Henry’s questions about what it’s like to be a professional chef and what it’s like to be on TV. Emma scoffs at that, telling Henry that she is literally on TV far more often than Killian is, but he doesn’t seem to care about any of that.

Professional chef obviously trumps Mom.

They learn that Killian moved to New York from London five years ago to open this restaurant after needing a change of scenery and getting all of the right paperwork and that he stumbled into working on The Morning Show because his restaurant manager saw the opening and applied for him as some kind of joke that ended up working out. In turn, Emma shares the story of meeting David when he came to visit the local news station she was working in and how that he offered her the opportunity to start working for the network. It took a bit of convincing, but she and Henry moved from Maine to Manhattan and had a bit of culture shock.

They love it.

The conversation never really seems to stop flowing, not at Friday night dinners and not during the Monday morning segments that keep on getting better and better as Emma becomes honestly comfortable bantering with Killian as she devours all of the food that he cooks. Ruby teases her about it, making far too many inappropriate jokes involving eating, and it only gets worse when there’s a stack of papers on Emma’s desk with printed off tweets talking about how many people look forward to having Emma and Killian working together.

“They ship you,” Ruby explains as she paints red lipstick onto Emma’s lips the day after a particularly funny Halloween segment where Killian made all of the food look both delicious and disgusting in all of its gory and spooky goodness.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“You have a ten-year-old. How do you not know what that means?”

“I think it’s a relationship thing, and he’s not interested in those, which I’m thankful for.”

“He will be,” Ruby promises, and Emma swears that doesn’t make her sentimental. “And shipping is, like, when you want two people to be together.”

Emma almost jolts forward in the chair, but she’s working particularly hard at not moving. She will not react to that. “That’s just weird.”

  
  
“Eh, kind of, but also not really. You two are ridiculously hot and also have great chemistry together. I get it. Part your lips for me.”

Emma completely and totally pushes that entire conversation to the back of her mind as she finishes getting ready for work and spends her morning doing a Ninja Warrior course with a five-year-old who is a million times better than her at it. It’s actually ridiculous, and she really shouldn’t have worn tight jeans for this.

Not the best outfit choice. At least she got to wear sneakers and a sports bra. It probably would have been disastrous otherwise.

So things are changing, but even the new routines become actual routines, which is exactly what throws Emma for a loop when Henry asks her if he can spend the night with Avery Friday night. She says yes after checking in with Avery’s mom, and after dropping Henry off with his backpack and a promise to see him at noon tomorrow, Emma goes back to an empty apartment that never seems quite right when Henry isn’t around.

Emma’s all about her alone time, something she doesn’t get a lot of even with Henry getting older, but she’s thrown by not having him with her tonight. What does she do? Treat herself to a spa night? She doesn’t really need one. Her job pretty much keeps her pampered all the time. Maybe she could read a book? Or watch a new TV show? But what TV show? There are so many that she’s behind on, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Food would probably be a good start.

And without really thinking about it, Emma grabs her purse, zips up her boots, and walks out the door of her apartment to find herself at she and Henry’s usual Friday night spot, the little reserved sign with their names waiting for them.

Except she’s by herself.

Until someone is sliding a piña colada in front of her and then sitting across from her in the booth.

“How in the world do you know that I like these?”

Killian grins, one of those dumb ones that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle. “Your boy told me that you love them but that you have some ridiculous hang up about ordering them.”

“They’re not on your menu.”

“I know a guy.” Killian nods his head toward her. “Where is the lad tonight?”

Emma hums and takes a sip of her drink. It’s freaking fantastic, and she’s got to thank Henry for spilling her secrets to Killian. Or, at least, that one secret. “He is spending the night with a friend, so he abandoned me to eat by myself.”

“Kids, they betray us all.”

“You’ve been betrayed by a kid?”

“No. I find myself to be too charming.”

She snorts, not really meaning to. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Jones. One day you’ll probably have children, and they will betray you.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Eh, I don’t know about that.”

“What? You don’t want kids?”

_Wow, Emma. Just go for the personal, why don’t you?_

“Don’t answer that,” she blurts out. “That’s too personal of a question, and I should have never asked it.”

Killian reaches over and places his hand over hers on the table, warmth spreading up over her arm. “It’s fine, Swan. I don’t find you intrusive. I think I’d like kids someday, but I’m thirty-four now, not seeing anyone I see a future with, and my relationship history isn’t the best.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a twenty-eight-year-old single mother to a ten-year-old. Do the math.”

Killian smiles and reaches up to adjust the collar of his shirt so that she can see a flash of dark chest hair and the slightest bit of ink. “Aye, I know. I didn’t want to presume. Is Henry’s dad – ”

“He doesn’t know that he exists,” Emma blurts out before downing far too much of her drink. This is too sweet for large gulps like that but really damn good. “I never got the chance to tell him. I was seventeen with no resources except for a slightly sympathetic foster mom and a part-time job as a video editor at a local news station, and Neal just disappeared into thin air one night.”

“What a bastard.”

“You’re telling me,” Emma scoffs. “It’s why I asked you not to say anything about Henry. I’m not ashamed of him. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

“You don’t want Neal to try to come back now that you’ve made a bit of a name out of yourself,” Killian finishes for her, and for the first time in all of the times that she’s told this story, someone understands. “I left London because my brother died in a Naval accident, and my long-term girlfriend left me because my grief was too much for her. She tried to contact me for the same reason the other day. On some level, I understand you even if I know having a child makes things more complicated.”

Emma’s heart absolutely pangs. Sharing tragic backstories and the scars on her heart is not her thing, but something about this man makes the words nearly flow out of her without hesitation. It’s not something she’s used to, not in the slightest.

“What was his name?”

“Liam. He, well, he’d call me a bloody idiot for naming this place after him and after the flower. It was my mum’s favorite, most likely why she named Liam what she did even if we never called him William. I thought it was a great way to honor them both, especially since they’re the people who taught me how to cook.”

“It was.”

Killian tightly smiles before lifting up his hand to wave a server down. “Though, I had a miserable experience with a dish gone wrong that nearly burned down my kitchen and took off my entire arm, so I’m not sure how great of teachers they actually were.”

“You have a restaurant that’s always packed, so I’d say they did a pretty good job.”

He leans forward as a server gets closer to them, and heat does not curl in Emma’s stomach when Killian winks. Not at all. “Or maybe I’m simply that naturally gifted, darling.” She opens her mouth to say something, but then Killian is turning away. “Wendy, can you tell everyone in the back that I’ll be dining out here tonight? Miss Swan is just about to help me come up with our seasonal menu since she has a real thumb on what the public wants.”

“Yes, sir, I can do that.”

Emma arches her brow. “Just invite yourself to my dinner, why don’t you?”

“Would it make it up to you if I pay?”

“You always pay. Every employee in this place refuses to take anything other than a tip from both me and Henry.”

“Huh, wonder why that is.”

They spend the next few hours picking apart the menu, arguing back and forth over food and drink preferences and the pros and cons of classics and specialties, and Emma has never laughed so hard over food. In fact, she’s never laughed so hard in her entire life. She’s spent so much time with this man but usually in short spurts, so she’s never actually gotten to see what he’s like or learn too much about him. He’s still quick to make an innuendo and slow to accept changes or any kind of criticism to the menu, but by the time the restaurant is closed and all of the tables are cleared, they’ve figured something out.

And had a few too many drinks that have her laughing even more.

They also have her accepting Killian’s offer to sleep in his guest bedroom in his apartment upstairs. She should say no, should not at all be accepting an offer like that when she has a perfectly good place ten minutes away, but she’s tired and the thought of getting to bed soon feels too good to pass up.

Her routine changes just a little bit more, and she embraces it for once in her life.

The alcohol makes it be a little less terrifying.

-/-

Killian does an entire segment on pies on the show Monday morning.

He says that it’s for Thanksgiving, but she knows that it’s for her.

He also adds more to the menu at Sweet William.

-/-

After that night, Henry starts inviting Killian over to the apartment for cooking lessons, claiming that both he and Emma could learn to be a little better so that they could eat more than one good meal a week, but Emma knows that there’s some kind of ulterior motive in Henry. There’s a sparkle in those brown eyes of his, and even though he claims that he wants to cook (as much as a ten-year-old can), he always seems to find himself in the living room so that Emma is left with just Killian.

Sneaky kid.

Who gets even sneakier when he invites Killian to Thanksgiving dinner with them. Emma was going to do it. She honestly was, but Henry beat her to it. And that’s exactly how Emma shows up at David and Mary Margaret’s house on Thanksgiving with Henry, Killian Jones, and three pies.

Every single person there is thoroughly intrigued and confused.

Emma is too.

She doesn’t bring men to holidays. She doesn’t bring men around at all. And she especially doesn’t bring men around who sit with their arm around her shoulder or who press their hand lightly into the small of Emma’s back as they stand in the kitchen and debate the different types of dressings to go with turkey.

Except that’s exactly what is happening here, and it sends a little thrill down Emma’s spine that she can’t quite place.

(She can, but it’s almost too terrifying to do that.)

Killian knows most everyone from his mornings on the show, so Emma doesn’t spend her time trying to ease him into things. He does that completely on his own and charms everyone the way that he always does even if she sees him scratch behind his ear, which is undeniably his nervous tick. And hopefully, just hopefully, no one is asking him a million questions like she’s getting asked about whether or not the two of them are dating and does he know that a weird section of the internet ships them?

They’re not, and he does. They laugh about it over wine and Emma’s really gross lasagna on the nights Killian has off from the restaurant.

The day passes in a blur of football and too much food, and before Emma can even blink, the three of them are packing up leftovers and getting an Uber back to Emma’s apartment. Henry crashes as soon as they get there, mumbling something about being too exhausted to take off his shoes, and then he disappears into his room while Killian puts the Tupperware containers into the fridge.

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells him before adjusting her shirt from where it wrinkled. “I can do it.”

“It’s fine, love,” he insists and he puts the leftover apple pie away next to the one he made for her to stay here. “Should we get some coffee and watch a movie? Are you one of those who is ready to celebrate Christmas already?”

“The turkey has been eaten, Jones. It’s time for Christmas. If I didn’t feel like I was dying from overeating and having to talk to people all day, we’d be out getting a Christmas tree right now.”

“Would I be the one carrying it?”

“You know it.”

“It would be my pleasure. I think the pine would mask the smell of kitchen on me.”

Emma turns the coffee maker on, and while it percolates, she starts straightening up the kitchen, putting away dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down countertops, but since they cooked (they being mostly Killian) in the kitchen of Killian’s restaurant, there’s not much to clean up. It’s what has her looking at Killian as he stares down at his phone, fingers typing away a message before the screen goes black and he’s placing it in his back pocket and looking at Emma with the softest smile that she’s ever seen.

And maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s that she’s feeling good…hell, maybe it’s because Emma wants to do something for herself for a change. Maybe it’s that her reasons don’t matter. All she knows is that she’s stepping forward and pressing her palms to Killian’s cheeks and kissing him.

_She’s kissing him. _

He doesn’t kiss back, not at first. There’s a bit of a grunt, one that doesn’t necessarily sound pleasant, but then his hands are pressing against her back and his lips are moving over hers while he backs them across the kitchen until the sharp edge of her counter is hitting her back. His kiss is warm and tastes of apple and cinnamon and quite possibly a bit of the rum he had right before they left. Emma groans when his teeth nibble down onto her and his hand snakes up underneath her shirt so that she can feel the heat of his palm.

Everything about him is warm and inviting, and as his tongue runs over the seam of her lips and she parts her mouth for him, Emma realizes that it’s been like that the entire time, even when she was upset with him simply for replacing Chef Rudianni and daring to be something different.

Emma almost likes different now.

No, she does. When it’s the right kind of different and a change that she’s okay making.

Killian pulls back, and Emma realizes that they’re both panting, foreheads pressed together and noses squishing into each other’s cheeks. Emma nearly giggles at the thought of her having beard burn.

She’s the height of maturity. She also doesn’t care. It’s been a long time since she’s felt like this.

“That was,” Killian breathes out.

“Definitely happening again,” she smiles before kissing him again.

Little by little they manage to make it out of the kitchen and back to Emma’s bedroom, both of them careful not to make any noise so as not to wake Henry, and once the door is locked behind them, clothes are shed and Killian’s lips run across her body, whispering words that sound sweeter than anything else, until he’s driving her into madness in a way that she hasn’t felt in years.

Maybe not ever.

The good changes keep on coming.

(So does Emma.)

-/-

Henry barely bats an eye when Killian is there to make them breakfast in the morning even though Emma is more than sure to make sure everything stays appropriate for him. She’s not really sure how to navigate dating around Henry, and when she asks him if he’s okay with she and Killian being together, he tells her that he wants her to be happy.

He also says that he wants to keep getting free cheeseburgers.

-/-

A year later, Killian names the cheeseburger at his restaurant after Henry.

The piña colada is named after Emma.

-/-

Every Monday morning and every Friday night turns into every day, and Emma is more than okay with that change.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines ](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com) ☺️


End file.
